I rise from my writing chair
Shake off my poet's robes
And step outside into a
       kaleidoscope of fallen leaves
        and hints of chimney smoke;
Dusky sky slung so low
The tall poplars scrape against it --

Summer's last cicadas are rasping out
        a catchy tune of life in the woods
And a crush of juncos has gathered
        closeby for seeds and conversation;
They know the crispy bite of
        near-winter nights is ever closer --

It strikes me
I am bound to this place with clipped
        wings, yet I feel a wanderlust
        I cannot deny.
Oh that I could fly south like
The little gray wrens mobbing my feeder.

How I aspire to be like them:
They must be so brave
        to gladly live in this world --

Art speaks words unheard,
   The feelings paints pictures unseen.
       It is beauty and drastic ideas combined
      A mix of pleasure and pain
      All experiences add a different taste
        Rough edges and smoothness entwined.
Touch it and fall into a dream
The artist lived and lives within.

In a second
I experienced the life
sweet and sour.

she wanders into my soul
so effortless
sweet and easy
like sunshine
on a sunday afternoon

she feels the raindrops falling
can see the silence calling
and steals the love
from my heart

divides my soul into equal parts
and kicks the pieces
into a hole
that she has dug
just for me

with her eyes.

Whisper,
A careless caress of emotion
Stolen through unwilling strokes
I lack all innocence
Memory is my greatest sin

Tell me something
Tell me anything
Because I'm living,
But long dead
Trying to define what isn't mine
I'm loving who I need
Beggin' never leave

We play a different story
One last melody
Always mine

My stars lay by your side

© Peach

One would think that I got
This thing called life figured out...
But that would be wrong
I’ve been in this world for 43 years
And the only thing I’ve figured out
Is I haven’t figured anything out

Sometimes I think I would just float away
If my son wasn’t holding the strings
He grounds me in a good way
With all the light that he brings

Most days I can hold it together
Other days I want to float out to sea
Would anyone miss me?
Yeah some days I am just getting by
Other days...who knows? I can just lie

Yeah. Ive been away awhile.
I prefer the quiet shadows of the ungraced.
I also prefer decent poetry.
Of which, this site is apparently lacking as of late. This mockery,
This "teen angst"
hurts my head to read.
I once drew inspiration from the lovely poets that were once here.
Breathed every beautiful word as oxygen.
Now,
my very eyes hurt.