Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
T E Pyrus Apr 2018
beyond a sun-warmed parapet

with a dot-eyed wondering smile
fingerpainted in storm-lit dust,

purple bougainvillea spill into a fresh grey sky,
fluttering in sweet lightning wind
like painted wings of a sunbird.
T E Pyrus Oct 2016
Tell me a story, traveller,

of unwalked roads you walked alone
beneath the blue and sunlit sky,
paved with earth or cobblestone
and straying clouds that wander by.

of strange lands and stranger folks
and strange songs they sang with you,
in strange tongues they call their home,
that, in your dreams, was somewhere new.

of temporary loves you loved,
then set your broken lovers free,
and healed your broken, heartless soul
beneath the starry sky and sea.

of darkened woods and foreign sound
that haunt the night-time every night.
of moons that follow footsteps quiet
and stars that watch in silent light.

of stormy nights and thunderclouds
that failed to bring your childish fears,
and drowning rain that drowned the winds
and brought you melancholic tears.

of snowy golden sunsets high
on mountain sides, ragged and old
and tears of wonder, tears of joy,
love of stories left untold.

of rivers running swiftly by
your resting sleep ere break of day.
of twilights that blanket the sky
and sweep the orange clouds away.

of lost lanterns and memories
and aimless wandering in the night.
of faraway towns of scattered starry
homes so warm and hearts so bright.

of lone camp-fires’ dancing songs
and lonely faded quiet applause.
of longing and of selfish pain,
of losing love and loving loss.

Tell me a story, traveller,
of reminiscing in grateful shade,
and of your final travel home
before your loving memories fade.
  Oct 2016 T E Pyrus
Doug Potter
I was never the type
of child that obeyed
much  of anything;
not even the many
times  I was told
not to stare into
the evening sun
when I felt
T E Pyrus Mar 2016
he leaves his
window open
so the rare
wind whistling by

through a dust-coloured
day; in a
dust-coloured cell
on a dust-coloured
treasure chest lie

his faded blue
attire, worn and
patched by gentler

greyed gracefully
to dusty black;
new wrinkles
on his face

weigh him down;
a faded
treasure chest
stares at a cement
coloured wall

over his head,
and the lonely
voiceless mist,
blinding; hear it

to rusty,
dark and sunless
sky, reflected
in his eyes,

when a bright and
impish countenance
eclipses tired

the tired rusty
treasure chest
five decades

to feel the stirring
light of grey,
to feel new
hope, awaits

the cold and
stinging storms
that pour, taste
salty youth again;

the dusty
yellow rain boots
melt, ecstatic
in the rain.

T. E. Pyrus
T E Pyrus Mar 2016
faery dust

i conquered Latmos at sunset.
wind flew swift and secretive.
gold-orange leaves had songs to give
my triumphant sillhouette.

my fingers held misty stardust.
the purple paintbrush flickered hues
of flaked and rosy multitudes
of soft and silent lust.

the evening star twinkled so bright.
my tip-toes rippled the moonlit lake
and watched the spell of daylight break
to mysterious twilight.

wait until faeries arrive.
and slide into an evening, still.
like latern on the windowsill,
the night sky came alive.

the willows wept heartache.
a night owl glided softly by.
under a billion suns i lie
for evermore awake.
T E Pyrus Nov 2015
does the word
isolation mean
that they place you
on an eternal
glacier at dawn?
it’s not windy
but cold; tales
and yarns that
you fold, but there’s
no one around,
they’re all gone,
and you’re quiet
in a wheelchair,
head high, in a
world where you
cannot ask why,
but by grace,
if you do, they’ll
all say, ‘mary sue!
say thee, that’s
a fine bird in
the sky!’
so you stay
there, your book
upside down,
staying lost ’til
you want to
be found,
you sit with
the back of
your head to
the world,
tired, ‘touch wistful,
o’ the people
of gold,
when you spoke,
they all shrouded
the truths that
you told,
now wait still,
all alone,
not a sound.
then one day
you hear your
heart call, after
forever of
nothing at all,
then your eyes
are warm, glistening,
but nobody’s listening,
melt a hole through
the floor and you fall-
right through ice
and through stone
and through crust,
diamond you,
you shall burn
for you must,
feel your heart
beating loud,
blaze a bright
brilliant cloud,
ashes to ash;
dust to dust.
  Oct 2015 T E Pyrus
Tom Leveille
i don't watch home movies
hate them
reason being because
when i was young
i was looking for a movie
my mother
had recorded for me
and accidentally
put one in the vcr
that i'm not sure
i was supposed to see
i know the obvious response
"uh oh, ****"
sorry to disappoint
they were only marked with dates
on live television
montel williams asks my father
"how can you just throw
your child away like a piece of trash?"

i spend so much time
in the emergency room
that my parents stop
penciling in growth marks
on the frame
of my bedroom door
i always thought
it was because they believed
i would never grow out
of this sickness
sometimes i believe
the reason that they
never bought me a dream catcher
was because they never thought
i'd live long enough
to see them come true
i am eliminated
from a spelling bee
because i didn't know
the 'dad' is silent in 'family'
before i got into poetry
i used to do standup
none of my jokes were funny
one of the other comics
tells me my skits are dry
sometimes sad
he says "why don't you joke
about something like your family?"

so i say
"i never wore any sunblock
because i didn't want anything
to keep me from my father"

i say "what do you call christmas
without lights or heat?"

before he has a chance
to answer
i say "1997. better yet
why don't you
make like a dad and

every time we drive
past the hospital
my mother reminds me
how much it cost to save my life
like she'd rather
have her money back
she doesn't have to say
that sometimes she wishes
it was me who had died
instead of my brother
i can hear it in the way
she says "love you"
sometimes i imagine
that if i were to die
that she
would pick out a casket for a child
because she never loved
the person i became
yesterday i told my father
how close i'd been
to suicide lately
and he said
"that's my boy,
livin on the edge.."

and i can't remember
if i laughed
or cried
Next page