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thornemcfarlane
thornemcfarlane
M/Pennsylvania Hi everyone! I am a poet, writer, and humanist. Please check out my chapbook, The Groundwork of Realization, on Amazon: https://amzn.to/2Fp8WKm
Poems5
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Words527
A brick falls A feather falls Which hits the ground first? The brick smashes into pebbles While the feather hovers down, Oh so gentlly Is it the same case with people? The weight of the world makes us Like the brick Guilt, fear, anger In our hearts as we sink A feather falls It makes no sound, no crashing noise Yet it reaches its destination With great poise Twisting and turning And correcting itself Watch the brick fall No twists and turns, no direction Straightforward, with no correction It comes with a roaring thud Known only by the noise it makes Ignorant of its own mistakes Pulled down by the haul Of its own weight Be like the feather Be weightless! It does not mean You are late touching ground You just take your tender time Getting there Be like the feather Be complicated! Without twists and turns There can be no correction Recognize mistakes And learn from them Be like the feather Be flexible! Do not fall so hard To one destination You never know where The winds will guide you The brick falls The feather falls The brick lands The feather is falling The feather is falling The feather is falling The feather is falling The feather is falling The feather is falling The feather is falling The feather is falling The feather is falling The feather lands
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Apr 17, 2020
Apr 17, 2020 at 9:15 PM UTC
thornemcfarlane
A Feather Falls
A brick falls A feather falls Which hits the ground first? The brick smashes into pebbles While the feather hovers down, Oh so gentlly Is it the same case with people? The weight of the world makes us Like the brick Guilt, fear, anger In our hearts as we sink A feather falls It makes no sound, no crashing noise Yet it reaches its destination With great poise Twisting and turning And correcting itself Watch the brick fall No twists and turns, no direction Straightforward, with no correction It comes with a roaring thud Known only by the noise it makes Ignorant of its own mistakes Pulled down by the haul Of its own weight Be like the feather Be weightless! It does not mean You are late touching ground You just take your tender time Getting there Be like the feather Be complicated! Without twists and turns There can be no correction Recognize mistakes And learn from them Be like the feather Be flexible! Do not fall so hard To one destination You never know where The winds will guide you The brick falls The feather falls The brick lands The feather is falling The feather is falling The feather is falling The feather is falling The feather is falling The feather is falling The feather is falling The feather is falling The feather is falling The feather lands
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56
They say love is a toxic bouquet, A beautiful gift hides its decay. Give them a slice of your heart, They become sickened and die. Love tears us apart, Love bleeds us dry. To lose all we cherish, All great things perish. Suffer for your precious display, Squandered in hopeless dismay, Selfish love is a toxic bouquet. They say love is a toxic bouquet, A beautiful gift hides its decay. The petals leave a dark residue, The remedy is so long overdue. Loud feelings are slow to action, Love takes but does not ration. Once lovely, now out of fashion, A rolling trend of passing passion. Suffer for your precious display, Squandered in hopeless dismay, Selfish love is a toxic bouquet. They say love is a toxic bouquet, A beautiful gift hides its decay. You don’t know the pain you cause, The grief will put your life on pause. Sweet nectar is toxic to swallow, Love leaves the widows to wallow, Love leads the sinners to sorrow, A trail of ruin is hard to follow.
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Feb 27, 2020
Feb 27, 2020 at 5:53 PM UTC
thornemcfarlane
Love is a Toxic Bouquet
They say love is a toxic bouquet, A beautiful gift hides its decay. Give them a slice of your heart, They become sickened and die. Love tears us apart, Love bleeds us dry. To lose all we cherish, All great things perish. Suffer for your precious display, Squandered in hopeless dismay, Selfish love is a toxic bouquet. They say love is a toxic bouquet, A beautiful gift hides its decay. The petals leave a dark residue, The remedy is so long overdue. Loud feelings are slow to action, Love takes but does not ration. Once lovely, now out of fashion, A rolling trend of passing passion. Suffer for your precious display, Squandered in hopeless dismay, Selfish love is a toxic bouquet. They say love is a toxic bouquet, A beautiful gift hides its decay. You don’t know the pain you cause, The grief will put your life on pause. Sweet nectar is toxic to swallow, Love leaves the widows to wallow, Love leads the sinners to sorrow, A trail of ruin is hard to follow.
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30
The mind moves mountains. Poetry in motion proves louder than… The lies that corrupt our lives. The stinging songs of society will expire, Exasperating sighs of the soul will tire, The truth will triumph no matter the cost, Before every crown surely comes the cross. If poetry is the power to end every plight, I’d gladly say, “This is why I write!” Before you see through my eyes, walk my line, Breathe through my lungs and tour my mind. Travel through my veins, through my very flesh, You will understand why life is vain, a frail test. As I’m… Chased by the many demons in the night, They compel me to make things right. The pain in my chest becomes too tight. And I’m seeing… Tears that are not my own. And I finally understand… That which is sown is grown and eventually mown. The skill and the will and the futile fights, To prove the world isn’t black and white. If poetry is the power to end every plight, I’d gladly say, “This is why I write!”
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Feb 13, 2020
Feb 13, 2020 at 11:23 PM UTC
thornemcfarlane
This Is Why I Write
The mind moves mountains. Poetry in motion proves louder than… The lies that corrupt our lives. The stinging songs of society will expire, Exasperating sighs of the soul will tire, The truth will triumph no matter the cost, Before every crown surely comes the cross. If poetry is the power to end every plight, I’d gladly say, “This is why I write!” Before you see through my eyes, walk my line, Breathe through my lungs and tour my mind. Travel through my veins, through my very flesh, You will understand why life is vain, a frail test. As I’m… Chased by the many demons in the night, They compel me to make things right. The pain in my chest becomes too tight. And I’m seeing… Tears that are not my own. And I finally understand… That which is sown is grown and eventually mown. The skill and the will and the futile fights, To prove the world isn’t black and white. If poetry is the power to end every plight, I’d gladly say, “This is why I write!”
Continue reading...
25
“Husband murdered wife over domestic dispute” Witnesses say they heard yelling getting clearer The community is shocked and never expected this terror A husband was angry over losing his kids to his wife He drove eight blocks to take her life He broke into her house and broke many things She came downstairs and the fat lady sings He knocks her down to the carpet At three in the morning the air remains scarlet He strangles her on their couch Blood filling up in her mouth At three in the morning she left this life Why do we do this to our women?
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Jan 5, 2020
Jan 5, 2020 at 10:08 PM UTC
thornemcfarlane
Why Do We Do This to Our Women?
“Husband murdered wife over domestic dispute” Witnesses say they heard yelling getting clearer The community is shocked and never expected this terror A husband was angry over losing his kids to his wife He drove eight blocks to take her life He broke into her house and broke many things She came downstairs and the fat lady sings He knocks her down to the carpet At three in the morning the air remains scarlet He strangles her on their couch Blood filling up in her mouth At three in the morning she left this life Why do we do this to our women?
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13
Society in peril, Morality on the fringes, The sound of a bullet leaving its barrel, The sound of a casket’s lid closing at its hinges, Oh, somewhere our better half cringes. For every person looking to preserve life, There are four others looking to destroy it. Though compassion is our signature tool, Oh, only a handful of us ever employ it. There is no neutrality when our conscious hearts fail. If our better angels remain silent, our darker halves prevail. Everyone has one ounce mercy, Three pounds sympathy, Angelic grace, Godly uniqueness, Divine understanding, And a two-ton war machine. Everyone has a two-ton war machine. Festering in heat, Moral fabric unweaves. Desecration, Denigration, Desiccation, The remains of a sacred bond left tattered by deceit. The sound of a stained glass window shattered by thieves. Oh, somewhere our better half grieves. The enigmatic future inches nearer, An ambiguous choice becomes clearer, The sound of rattling, an empty heart, Battling, an empty mind. The sound of hurried footsteps… And there are others not far behind. The blind guiding and seeking the blind, Oh, somewhere our better half searches to find… A shelter from all of these two-ton war machines. Everyone has a two-ton war machine.   Everyone has one ounce mercy, Three pounds sympathy, Angelic grace, Godly uniqueness, Divine understanding, And a two-ton war machine. The pain lingers, Morality rests in tatters, Miniature death-bringers, The sound of a bigot’s daggers, The sound of a depressed man’s gun facing backwards… After he decides that nothing else matters. Oh, somewhere our better half staggers. Everyone has one ounce mercy, Three pounds sympathy, Angelic grace, Godly uniqueness, Divine understanding, And a two-ton war machine. Everyone has a two-ton war machine. The temperature escalates, Morality thrown out with the spoils, The sound of tension as it elevates, The sound of blood as it boils, Oh, somewhere our better half recoils. Because everyone has a two-ton war machine. A guilty conscience, a burdened soul, a heavy heart, And a two-ton war machine. Society in peril, Morality on the fringes, The sound of a bullet leaving its barrel, The sound of a casket lid closing at its hinges, Oh, somewhere our better half cringes. Everyone has one ounce mercy, Three pounds sympathy, Angelic grace, Godly uniqueness, Divine understanding, And a two-ton war machine.
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Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 6:44 PM UTC
thornemcfarlane
Two-Ton War Machine
Society in peril, Morality on the fringes, The sound of a bullet leaving its barrel, The sound of a casket’s lid closing at its hinges, Oh, somewhere our better half cringes. For every person looking to preserve life, There are four others looking to destroy it. Though compassion is our signature tool, Oh, only a handful of us ever employ it. There is no neutrality when our conscious hearts fail. If our better angels remain silent, our darker halves prevail. Everyone has one ounce mercy, Three pounds sympathy, Angelic grace, Godly uniqueness, Divine understanding, And a two-ton war machine. Everyone has a two-ton war machine. Festering in heat, Moral fabric unweaves. Desecration, Denigration, Desiccation, The remains of a sacred bond left tattered by deceit. The sound of a stained glass window shattered by thieves. Oh, somewhere our better half grieves. The enigmatic future inches nearer, An ambiguous choice becomes clearer, The sound of rattling, an empty heart, Battling, an empty mind. The sound of hurried footsteps… And there are others not far behind. The blind guiding and seeking the blind, Oh, somewhere our better half searches to find… A shelter from all of these two-ton war machines. Everyone has a two-ton war machine.   Everyone has one ounce mercy, Three pounds sympathy, Angelic grace, Godly uniqueness, Divine understanding, And a two-ton war machine. The pain lingers, Morality rests in tatters, Miniature death-bringers, The sound of a bigot’s daggers, The sound of a depressed man’s gun facing backwards… After he decides that nothing else matters. Oh, somewhere our better half staggers. Everyone has one ounce mercy, Three pounds sympathy, Angelic grace, Godly uniqueness, Divine understanding, And a two-ton war machine. Everyone has a two-ton war machine. The temperature escalates, Morality thrown out with the spoils, The sound of tension as it elevates, The sound of blood as it boils, Oh, somewhere our better half recoils. Because everyone has a two-ton war machine. A guilty conscience, a burdened soul, a heavy heart, And a two-ton war machine. Society in peril, Morality on the fringes, The sound of a bullet leaving its barrel, The sound of a casket lid closing at its hinges, Oh, somewhere our better half cringes. Everyone has one ounce mercy, Three pounds sympathy, Angelic grace, Godly uniqueness, Divine understanding, And a two-ton war machine.
Continue reading...
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