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The sky lit up different
shades of pink and purple,
yellow and orange.
I could hear the stars singing
that every little thing
is going to be alright.

So instead of folding; I am
sitting in front of my fireplace
with a gin and coke,
listening to music I’ve been
avoiding.

Some day I won’t be sad anymore.
Right?
To be alive
Is to be adrift.

To fight the sea
Is to know futility.
There's something strange and tempting
All around me.
I feel you, unrelenting,

Gracing my something from somewhere.

Floating like a figment in the air
And you're so high up, we can't see you there,
But I know that you're somewhere.

My eyes are pinching close
Trying to spy your ghost;
Prove to myself that you're out there.

Like a wind dancing light on my skin,
I feel you at it again,
And at their end is my every hair.


If only you'd hold me closer.
I'd like to know that you really care.

My sweet, strange and unreal rover,
I'm getting older; wearing out all of my over-wear.


There's something strange and tempting
Tugging at me.
Almost begging to be,

To be my something from somewhere.

I'm longing, looking and I'm delighted to seek,
Though I'm still straining to see;
Oh, which form would you ask of me?

You could make yourself up most anywhere.

Your gaze is set and pressing through my being.
Because you're all that I see,
I'm staring into my mirror.

I guess I'm lucky it's to me that you speak,
From your elusive unseen,
Caught in your soft-spun somewhere.
There is something calling to each of us, from some unseen otherworld. My something, or at least the mask I attribute to it, whispers a song of delight, whimsy, and oddly mirrored natures. There are as many modes with which to love as there are reasons for the feeling.
She is sprawled; a vast expanse
Her eyes are islands in the dark
Her breath pulls in and the seas abide
She takes a look through your eyes

"I am alive"
I really should write the perfect line
With perfect will and aim and time

And I really should do a lot of things
That I keep on hoping tomorrow'll bring

But it never seems to bring it
Just like I never seem to write it

I had meant to think of a happy ending
Or at least of a good one




Oh, bother
Sometimes things, like poems and people, they end up on paths that nobody intended for them.
It is okay to embrace a miss, I think.
To hide one's self; not an idea so mind-boggling.
Though detailed, the mask belies the heart's sand-boxing,
"Immune to all toxins projected in offense".
It's nonsense, but needed for all that it off-sets.

It's hard to find strength in a world that won't want it
And, yet, harder still to sincerely be honest.
Self-critical composure of mine, as promised,
Lives effortlessly on; though hidden, undaunted.

Please excuse me for choosing words plainly unclear;
I am both a survivor and victim of fear.
The caterpillar walks alongside groovy stems; so what do you mean?
    the banjo plays on to rusty hymns; what is that supposed to mean?  the plainsong of those birds of a feather upends: excuse me, come again please?
   but nobody, no one;  ever… told you you had
to comprehend. Oh fam, you’re soo mean!
So you can take your suit just in case,
and I can take in the
rain and coat  my little dream. What, why? You don’t mind.  and I don’t mind metaphors
to explain lyrics across…  the bard. You’re speaking in riddles, Man! So what is Poetry
to me, if I can’t take
it’s license and play with my words, words you would discard, I call  deuces wild, yeah my friend. Nah, it’s not like that at all child. Yes it is. No it’s not. Yes it is. No it’s not! And that’s the way I feel y’all. I just think a thought and jot.

Jot it all down. Jot it all down. Jot alllllll DoWn… when I think a thought.
Totally messing around here, I love to explain my writings!
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