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Duncan Leugs May 2013
As I gaze upon the sea
I thought of only you and me.
The love that could have drowned an anthem
a love so deep we could not fathom.

I recall these days of old
when dreams were bright and waters cold
when silent breeze with fingers icy
would brush your hair ever so slightly.

Ceaseless waves would pound the shore
when once we were, but nevermore.

At that place where land met sea
with water lapping at our feet
even now that you're away
I pace the shore to waste the day.

By the beach we always ran
scarring footprints in the sand
the memories ingrained in time
now washed away amidst the brine.

I choke down water with ever breath.
Since you have gone, there's nothing left.
Duncan Leugs May 2013
Undisturbed these blankets new
undisturbed conceal the few.
Those who wander worn and weary
speak of Spring's antiquity.
Winter's callous tears will bring
no more odes for choirs to sing.
Restless nights breed endless dreams
undisturbed to cease the streams.

But glory still remains amid
wide expanses now deemed placid.
I long to feel your touch again
but I will wait until you rien.
The mornings shine with crystals bright
whilst Twilight's solitude holds tight.
This was the first poem I ever wrote, and it is a sonnet. One morning during the winter I looked outside and saw a brand new blanket of snow completely coating the neighborhood. The way the light shown off of it was incredible, so I decided to write what I saw. Enjoy.
Duncan Leugs May 2013
Across dry plains the tumbleweed dances
          off the dusty floor
As a renounced ballerina reminisces
          in her old studio
          On the corner of the street
                    towards the west
                              following the sun
                                        where all dreams go
And where the wind carries the tumbleweed.

The air rustles in the drift
          as she sighs
Breathing in the dusty smell
          of the grass
          Of the room
                    where she once performed
                              for her beloved
                                        now carried away
                                                  by the same wind
                                                  that carries tumbleweeds
                                                  and­ caused dust to dance.

A tear soaks the wooden floor
          a small relief from the barren span
                    for the lonely ballerina
                              who is forever carried
                              along the scalding land.
Lost.
          Like words unsaid
                    on lips untouched
                              cracked by the sun
                                        where all dreams go
And where the wind carries the tumbleweed.
When referring to grammer, the term "tumbleweed" is given to a sentence that continues on, jumping from thought to thought. In this poem, I attempt to intertwine the definition of "tumbleweed" with the structure and imagery of the poem, creating an analogy for a tumbleweed and a ballerina who is facing a loss of a friend, a career, a lover ... I'll let you decide. Enjoy.
Duncan Leugs May 2013
Pounding against cages strong
Jumping soon, but not for long.
Until the wind begins to rush
          Throughout the blood.
          Throughout the brush.

Pausing only quickens time
Reverberating with Life's crime
Stolen, asking, "Will you come
          With mournful strings
          And ceaseless drum?"

Rhythmic melody will call
All the demons to Death's thrall
Exhausted heart strain faster still
          They beat no more
          No more they will.

Reassuring rhythm please
Show me gates as bright as these
Hasten Life's abandonment
          Of beats now soft.
          Beats still present.

Soft submission in Death's gate
Slowly ends the rhythmic rate.
Resonating heart sounds will
          Be still.
I kept in mind the rhythm of a heartbeat while writing so as to give the impression of life in the piece. Enjoy.
Duncan Leugs May 2013
Amazing Mike was full of gifts
          that he would share all day.
But Average Joe would stay at home
          wasting himself away.

Amazing Mike and Average Joe
          were always best of friends.
But Joe was always searching for
          the means to an end.

One day came when Average Joe
          sick of life's displeasure
Took a razor from his drawer
          and slit his wrists with ferver.

Joe had asked "What am I?
          A break of unseen monster?
Or am I some strain of cancer?"
          He never got his answer.

Joe didn't wait for death of age
          counting his days as "few."
Average Joe, now sick with sleep
          and so he bid "adieu."

"Adieu to you Amazing Mike
          whose fortune ne'er rots.
Enjoy your life, the gifts for granted
          for life loved me not."
When reading this poem, attempt to keep in mind the rhythm of a nursery rhyme. I wrote this poem with the light-hearted progression of a nursery rhyme to contrast with the topic of the poem. Enjoy.
Duncan Leugs May 2013
Sometimes I wonder
     If I stand still,
          will the snow bury me?
                  the roots hold me?
                  the lightning strike me?
     can you move me
     If I stand still,
          will my heart stop?
                  my bones set?
                  my eyes shut?
     I can watch the world
     If I stand still,
          I can breathe easy
                   think clearly
                   move freely
     If I stand still,
Will you notice me?

Can you hear me?
Duncan Leugs May 2013
The peaceful river does not sleep
but carves a road that runs so deep.
The silent waters trickle down
and calming lullabies do sound.

The peaceful river does not cry
though soaked with tears and never dry.
A lonely journey leads it home
to oceans wide with drowning tones.

The peaceful river does not anger
no wrath contaminates the martyr.
Temptation does not flow to sea
does not hold the river free.

Instead the river feeds the soul
weaving life where're it flow
breeding hopes for future fruit
and wiping clean the ash and soot.

Humble savior of unclean soil
without reward despite its toil.
A ceaseless flow of blessedness
The peaceful river of forgiveness.
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